


Made of Honor

by KillerKueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bridesmaid for Hire, F/M, Professional Bridesmaid, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 07:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10328975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/pseuds/KillerKueen
Summary: Emma has a problem, if you wanted to call being a loner who couldn’t get along with people a problem. Which she didn’t. Until Neal came along. And proposed. Now she’s in a bit of a predicament, but hopefully she’s found a solution in one Belle French and her peculiar service.Established Swanfire, will focus mainly on Rumbelle





	

**Author's Note:**

> Will eventually be NC-17, super tame right now
> 
> Also, this is based off a prompt that was floating around tumblr awhile ago. 
> 
> Also also, I really hope this fic makes sense because I’ve been staring at it for three days straight and I’m not sure anymore.

There was always a small amount of embarrassment when she met with new clients.

Not from her—Belle had long since grown comfortable in her role as professional bridesmaid. No, it was always in the women who hired her, in the women who thought they were betraying some sacred trust when they discovered that they couldn’t handle the full-time job planning a wedding entailed. She could read their shame in how they couldn’t quite keep eye contact, oh how they’d fidget in their seat as if they couldn’t get comfortable. The brides who hired her, on the other hand, usually felt only relief.

It was nothing compared to the loud defiance of Emma Swan. The woman was currently slouched in her chair, arms folded over her chest and was glaring at the coffee cup in front of her with such ferocity that Belle was amazed it hadn’t started giving off sparks.

“And sex is never part of this?” she asked again.

“I do not offer sex in any capacity,” Belle said patiently. She took a sip of her tea. “If you’re looking for something a little more titular than party games and advice on which dress goes best with your complexion, then I’m sure there are other women who would be more than happy to help you.”

Emma didn’t say anything, just continued glaring into her coffee.

Belle waited, gently tapping the rim of her cup. The cafe Emma asked to meet at was popular, even for it being an early afternoon on a weekday. Belle looked around at the abstract art lining the brick walls, listened to the sound of the machines and people talking with their voices low. Over Emma’s shoulder she saw two old women, one with her head thrown back in laughter.

Finally Emma said, “Party games—you mean like for a bridal shower, right?”

“A bridal shower, a bachelorette party, any other gathering that you wanted to have to celebrate you and your fiance..”

Belle managed to cover her snort with a cough at the look of utter distaste that crossed Emma’s face. She didn’t want Emma to think she was making fun of her on top of her overall discomfort.

“Not your thing?” Belle didn’t like to assume too much about her clients, but with her red leather jacket and thick-soled black boots, it was clear Emma was a woman who hadn’t spent much time thinking about her wedding.

“A big part of what I do is take care of details, which can be quite extensive, or very minimal, depending on the bride and the other people she has involved.”

“There aren’t any others involved, so.”

“Alright,” Belle said when Emma didn’t continue. “You don’t want any parties. I won’t be micromanaging any bridesmaids.” She took a thoughtful sip of her tea. “Do you want help with the planning?”

“Planning? That’s like flowers, right?”

“Flowers, colors, place settings, things like that, yes. I can also help addressing invitations.”

“That’s all being taken care of, actually, so no. I don’t need your help with that.”

Belle frowned. One of the ladies behind Emma had pulled out a book full of what looked like stitching patterns. Or recipes. Maybe a scrapbook of their grandchildren; it was hard to tell.

“You mean someone else is making those decisions?”

“Yup. I’m hands off.”

“This is your wedding.” Belle had worked with all sorts of brides, and though only a handful could fit into the bridezilla stereotype, she had never met someone so apathetic to her own ceremony. From the careless shrug Emma was giving her, it clearly didn’t matter to her.

“My future father-in-law is paying for everything so I figure he can choose.”

“Are you going to do any cake tasting, at least? I’m rather fond of those,” she said. The last wedding she worked at had been four layers of a lavender honey sponge cake that had just been divine. The one before that had a champagne cake with strawberry buttercream. Heavenly.

“Sorry,” Emma said with a small smirk.

Belle sighed dramatically and leaned back in her chair. “Well then how about I stop trying to guess what is you do need from me so you can just tell me.”

Emma frowned at her coffee, picking up the cup by the handle but not taking a drink. “Is that all you do? Planning and organizing?”

“Not at all. Those aren’t even all of the more typical requests.”

“Sounds like people confuse you with a wedding planner.”

“And you’re stalling. Why don’t you tell me what you want so we can talk about it.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You show up to the actual wedding, right? Like, you’re there at the altar next to the bride and in all the photos, and shit?”

“Yes. Ostensibly, I am just like any other of the bridesmaids, and rarely do any of the others know I’m being paid.”

“You keep the secret,” Emma said, leaning over the rickety table, staring at Belle now instead of her poor porcelain mug.

“Yes.”

Belle didn’t dare so much as count her heartbeats, holding Emma’s intense look until finally she blinked. Emma put her cup down on the table, but she sat up a little straighter, like someone who was about to face a firing squad.

“Here’s the thing. Your name isn’t anywhere on your website, and you introduced yourself as Belle. Is that your real name, or is it what you use for us poor bastards that hire you?”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Your name. Can I pick it?”

Well, at least this meant that Emma probably needed an actual bridesmaid. “I don’t see why not. Is there something—”

“Lily Page,” Emma said. Her eyes were on her cup again, expression fierce, and Belle was impressed that the porcelain hadn’t started melting.

“Either you’ve had a lot time to think about this, or that’s a real person.”

“Is that a problem?”

“There’s just too much risk that comes with pretending to be someone real. A quick facebook search is all it takes—or even worse, what if by some chance there’s someone at the wedding who actually knows her?” Belle paused. The old ladies behind Emma were gone. “I usually make up names. Verna Chase, Mara Wood, Lacey Knott—“

“Lacey Knott?” Emma asked in disbelief. “You said you weren’t an escort.”

Belle laughed. “That one actually raises far less eyebrows than you’d expect.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

Belle smiled. “All eyes are on the bride at a wedding, not the bridesmaid, especially if I’ve done my job correctly.”

Emma rolled her eyes. She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “The problem is I’ve only ever mentioned Lily. He won’t buy someone else just randomly showing up.”

“Your fiancee, you mean.”

“Yeah.”

“You could say I’m just someone from work.”

“I’m a bail bonds person. I can’t exactly go for a friendly drink with the people I work with.”

“A bounty hunter?” Belle could easily picture Emma throwing a man against the side of a car and pulling their hands back, snapping the metal cuffs on his wrists so they pinched. It was more impressive than it probably should have been.

“A bail bonds person,” she said, mouth flat. “Look, there’s probably a half dozen Lacey Knotts struggling in the porn industry at any given moment, and not everyone has a facebook.”

Belle could at least agree with that. Not having a facebook was often the line she used when she needed to. It wasn’t a lie either; Belle had deactivated her own account ages ago.

“There’s zero chance of anyone recognizing the name, let alone putting her face to it,” Emma continued.

Belle hummed. It wasn’t the oddest thing that had been requested, all things considered. Faking a history of familiarity wasn’t going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination; it was a thin line, proving that she knew someone without just listing off random factoids while sounding natural and not robotic.

“So Lily is someone you knew when you were younger,” Belle guessed.

“We lost contact when we were still teenagers, so it’s expected that we won’t know a lot about each other.” Emma ran a hand through her thick hair. “That’ll help, right?”

Belle took a small sip of her tea. People ideally changed quite a bit from their teenaged years, and people were known to get so sentimental during weddings. If Emma had no other prospects, then surely it wasn’t crazy for her to track down her best friend from her glory years? She was right that it would make it easier; missing an entire decade together could easily cover for them having just met.

“Emma, can I be frank?”

“I’d prefer if you be Lily.”

Again, she managed to cover her snort with a cough (and barely managed not to roll her eyes). “You don’t seem like someone who does something they don’t want to do, and most certainly won’t allow themselves to be cowed into doing that thing.”

“You’re wondering why I’m hiring you.”

“I can tell you don’t want to.”

“Hey, I forgot to mention that the wedding is out of state. The website said that that’d be okay.”

Belle sighed, leaning back in her seat. “You realize if you want this to work, you’ll have to tell me something.”

Emma looked to the door of the cafe, to the couches that lined the far wall, to the cold dregs of her coffee. “I was raised in foster care. Lily wasn’t. We were sixteen when we ran away together, and we spent months just…” she shrugged. “You know. Doing things that delinquents with vendettas against the world do.”

That explained a lot, really, not least of which why there didn’t seem to be anyone on Emma’s side of the wedding preparations.

“She hurt you.”

Emma’s eyes snapped to Belle’s, her face an unreadable mask. “She left.”

“Are you sure you want me to be her?”

“There is no one else you could be. I have no friends. I have no family. Lily is the closest I’ve ever had to either.”

“Alright, then answer this; is this for your fiancee’s benefit or your father-in-law’s?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “Look at you, Sherlock.”

“Reading people is a large part of what I do.” When Emma kept glowering at her cup, Belle sighed. “I can’t still convince you to go with an old college roommate?”

“Didn’t go to college.” Emma swallowed some of her coffee, grimacing. “Is that the usual shtick?”

“I have used it a few times,” she admitted. “Sorority sister is also common. I’ve been a long-lost cousin once or twice removed, too, but obviously that one’s not going to work.”

“Nope. Look, Neal doesn’t know any details,” Emma said in a controlled voice. “Just that I was really close with a girl named Lily. That’s it. I am giving you complete and utter control to make up as much shit as you want.” Her eyes flickered to the door again. “Oh, yeah, and another thing,” Emma said, turning back. “My fiancee may have just walked in.”

“Wait, now?” Belle swiveled in her seat, trying to spot him.

Emma scooted lower, super interested in her coffee again. “I asked him to meet me here.”

“Worried I’d be an ax-murderer?” Belle asked.

“I honestly thought I’d get one look at you and tell you to get lost, okay? Or decide that you were someone I would never realistically be friends with, but damn you, you just had to be likable.”

Belle laughed. She couldn’t help it. “What a tragedy.” If scowling, refusing to make eye contact and being obstinate were signs of Emma liking someone, she wondered just how she handled people she didn’t like.

There was a man by the door who was wearing jeans, a grey t-shirt and a dark red hoodie, rolled up to his elbows. He was looking around the cafe, trying to spot where they were.

“Neal, you said his name was?”

“Uh-huh.”

Emma seemed the sort who didn’t appreciate having her time wasted, so they might as well find out right now if Belle could play the part or not.

“Trial through fire, right?” Belle said cheerfully, raising her hand get his attention. She had always been good at improv, after all.


End file.
